


As Always

by AllieRat



Series: A Little Lonely [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: For a school project im writing multiple short stories centered around one original character, here's the first short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 08:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieRat/pseuds/AllieRat
Summary: "She rolls over again in her bed, her clothes clinging a little uncomfortably in the heat, and she sighs heavily through her nose. What is bothering me? She asks herself. Nothing is different.Nothing is ever different."





	As Always

Something is off.

_Something is off, _she whispered in her mind. She couldn’t tell exactly what was different, though. Nothing popped out at her as explicitly _wrong, _nothing out of place, nothing there that wasn’t supposed to be there. The legs of her bed creaked as she rolled onto her side late at night, as always. Her blanket was a little too warm for her and she kept her legs uncovered, as always. She checked her clock and it read _2:31 A.M.,_ as always. Too many thoughts ran around in her mind and they kept her awake, as always. The shadows whispered in the corners of her room, as always. Her too-dark dog lay on the ground at the foot of her bed, watching quietly, as always.

She rolls over again in her bed, her clothes clinging a little uncomfortably in the heat, and she sighs heavily through her nose. _ What is bothering me? _ She asks herself. _ Nothing is different. _

Nothing is ever different. 

She closes her eyes, trying to block out all the thoughts running around that kept her from sleeping. It didn’t work, as always. She turned over onto her other side. She looks at the clock again.

_ 2:31 A.M. _

As always. 

She feels thirsty.

She shuts her eyes again, but sits up in her bed instead of trying to sleep when she knew she couldn’t. She hops out of bed, making sure to land a good few feet away from the dark shadows underneath the bed. She ignores the reaching shadows, ignores the whispers in the corner of the room by her closet door, ignores the stare of the creature lying at the foot of her bed. 

She feels, rather than sees, the shadows closing in on her, but they recede when she opens her bedroom door and the light of the moon filters in through a window in the hallway just outside. She leaves the door open when she walks out.

There are other doors lining the hallway that she walks along, all of them open, all of them just dark enough that you would have to peek into the room to see anything. She never looks at them, never moves closer. She just walks along the long hallway, to a brightly lit room at the other end. 

_ It’s a kitchen, _she thinks. She’s never sure. But there’s food and there’s drink, so she will call it a kitchen. 

The light is too bright, as always, so bright that she shields her eyes and she only sees the ground from underneath her fingers. She’s been here so many times, though, and she doesn’t need to see to know where the water was. She’s never needed to see the room.

She feels cool metal on her finger tips of the hand not covering her eyes, and she pulls until she hears a fridge opening. She reaches in, and there’s a glass of cold water on the middle shelf. She pulls it out, listening to the _ clink _ of a glass of cold water being placed on the shelf before the door closes.

She walks back to her room, taking her hand off her face when she leaves the bright room. The hallway and the surrounding doors look even darker now as she exited the light, and she still doesn’t peek into the rooms. 

When she enters her room, she kicks the door shut with the heel of her foot, hurrying back into bed before it closed all the way and the moonlight was gone. She places the glass of water on the table next to her bed. She vaguely remembers that she had a glass of water in her bedroom the night before as well, but doesn’t know what she did with it. 

_ I probably washed it, _ she thinks. _ Washed it and put it away. _

She lays down in bed. She turns over on her side, and shuts her eyes. 

Something is off.

_ Something is off, _ she whispered in her mind. But nothing stood out as explicitly wrong. She sighs and turns over in her bed, listening to the whispers and the moving shadows and the too-dark dog laying at the foot of her bed watching her quietly. She looks at the clock beside her bed. 

_ 2:31 A.M. _

As always.

She feels thirsty. 


End file.
